


The Winter Solstice

by Markovia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sun didn't shine brightly the day Tom Riddle came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter Solstice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> Fic is part of the Tomione Forum Winter Solstice Challenge. The true author will be revealed at a later date.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s1235.photobucket.com/user/daxodokira/media/WinterChallengediploma2.jpg.html)  
> 

**The Winter Solstice**

 

They had been on the run for over four months. It had been two weeks since Ron left. They had one horcrux with them. It was December twenty second. It was ten o’clock in the evening. Nothing made sense to Hermione anymore unless she categorized it logically. Her memories had become far more organized as of late, a mental file cabinet, it allowed her to keep a small amount of control in her currently insane life. Hermione Granger was used to order, predictability, sense and reason. Since Voldemort’s rise to power nothing had gone her way - everything was backwards. She should be at home, sitting in her cosy little house with her parents, stuffing her face full of Quality Street and falling asleep under their twinkling Christmas tree near the fireplace. Instead, she was stuck in the middle of a foggy moor, surrounded by huge, crumbling boulders and mysterious noises that forced a shudder down her spine every time she heard them. She was currently sitting at a small table in the main section of their over-sized tent, having just finished another awful dinner of mushy vegetable soup, now pouring over a book with tired eyes. Sleep was rare during their travels, there was no set pattern to when they might get rest, they just had to sleep when they were able, day or night. Harry was mostly vacant these days, he spent the majority of his time huddled on his bed in the cordoned off sleeping area of the tent, eyes empty of everything but pain. They barely spoke to each other, only communicating when they needed to exchange that damn horcrux. The beautiful, emerald encrusted locket was hanging around Harry’s neck at present, as it had been since the previous evening. Blasted thing! The effect it had on the pair only heightened the tension created by Ron’s departure and their helpless situation in the general scheme of the Wizarding War. She’d spent so long trying to work out how to destroy it, but nothing was working - it was beginning to make her doubt her intelligence. The locket seemed to have sensed her weakness, she noticed, and recently whenever she had worn it those doubts had intensified tenfold. Yesterday, during her horcrux-stint, she’d found a single word in a text book that she didn’t understand. Suddenly, panic alighted in her mind and every word on the page looked foreign to her. Sentences blurred into streams of running ink that she couldn’t fathom, her mind grew frustrated and she’d thrown the tome onto the floor with an exasperated cry.

 

Hermione shivered at the memory, slumping back into the camping chair with a deep sigh. Most of the time the horcrux just made her feel drained, lifeless, that moment had been a peculiar exception. She tilted the chair back onto its rear legs, propping her feet on the table to keep her balance. From this position she could see outside, through the open flap of the tent. It was dark, almost pitch black outside. Strange, she couldn’t remember a time today when there had been light - dawn and dusk had never appeared, it was just the same dull darkness that hung over the landscape. Of course. It was the twenty-second today, it must be the Winter Solstice. Shortest day, longest night - how very apt. The last time she had witnessed this, it had been with her Father. They had taken a trip together to watch the dusk from Stonehenge, her Father spouting myths and legends about random pieces of history. She had been too kind to tell him she had read all of his stories before. With another sigh, she tipped her chair forward and swung herself up onto her feet, heading towards the tent door. The cold hit her face immediately, sending her teeth chattering in her head. The view before her was still covered in the usual thick, white smog that skewered most things from clear sight. The only thing Hermione found herself comforted by was the sky - a velvet black blanket pin-pricked with glittering stars. It had a strange, shimmering sheen to it, and it cast a ghostly pale light across the rocks of the moor. From her point in the tent, she could see various outlines in the darkness, vast stone giants just visible in the glow. It was abnormally quiet, the only sounds were the occasional rustling of leaves, or gentle hum of the wind. It would have been eerie, had she not been so relived to be alone and safe in the wilderness. She turned away from the scene, pulling the flap shut behind her to keep the cold out.

 

Harry looked up from his position on the bed as she entered the room, his tired green eyes surveying her wearily. He moved his hands up to his neck and unclipped the locket, clutching the chain in his fist and holding it towards her, shakily.

“Sorry, Hermione. I don’t think I can take any more of this tonight,” he sighed. “The actual Volde- idiot has been slinking around my head all day, I don’t think I can handle mini-Mort as well. Please, I promise I’ll go and keep watch outside until morning so you can get some rest - you’ve been up for an awfully long time.”

 

“Harry I-”

 

“Come on, ‘Mione, please?” he said, taking off his spectacles to wipe the dirt from them.

 

She didn’t want to, not at all, that thing hung around her neck like a lead weight. But she knew that horcrux affected Harry far more intensely than it did her, so she merely smiled reassuringly, held out her hand and let him drop the locket gently into her palm. Immediately, a heavy feeling dropped in her stomach, as if she had swallowed one of the tors from out on the moor. She had felt this hundreds of times before, but never gotten used to it, that feeling of utter desolation and dread, like something bad was just around the corner. Winding the chain around her neck, she turned from Harry and sat down on her bed.

 

“Sure thing, Harry. Sorry for being such a bother, I - I just get scared for you out there on your own,” she replied, laying her head down on the pillow.

 

Harry smiled at her and moved from his bed to kneel beside her, placing his hand over hers and patting it gently. “I can take care of myself, ‘Mione. Just try and get some sleep, it’s easier than being awake with that thing on. I’ll be just outside,” he paused and ran a hand through his dark hair, another tired smile gracing his features. “Need a bit of fresh air, you know?”

 

Hermione nodded with a smile, eyes flickering briefly to his burning scar. “There’s some stew left in the pot on the stove for you, if you fancy it. Sorry, it’s just root vegetables aga-”

 

“I’d love it, thanks Hermione,” he said, squeezing her hand gently.

 

“Liar,” she replied, a grin spreading across both their faces, simultaneously. A bright witch she might be, but her cooking skills were far from enviable. The pair had grown scrawnier than ever before in the past months thanks to their diet of vegetable stock and barely-cooked potatoes. Harry let out a light laugh, pushed himself away from the bed and strolled out of the bedroom towards the main living area, leaving her alone. She could hear Harry clattering around in the kitchen, preparing himself the foul slop she had made, which brought a small smile to her lips. The girl swung her legs up onto the camp bed and laid her head back against the hard pillow, slowly clasping her fingers around the locket. It was a heavy trinket, a weighty precious metal that felt like an block of ice to the touch. She brought it up to her eye line, admiring the intricate, sparkling design that had been carefully inlayed into the golden frontage. It really would have been quite desirable, had it not contained the soul of their foul nemesis. A grimace crossed her face - how could one possibly begin to split their soul? What would drive a man to think that a horcrux could ever be a good thing?

 

She let go of the necklace and let it fall back against her chest with a small thud, proceeding to draw the winter blankets up around her chest. Warmth spread over at last, as she snuggled deeper into the bed - she almost felt comfort, a feeling she hadn’t felt for a long, long time. Maybe she was beginning to get used to the effect of the locket, it didn’t seem to be affecting her at all tonight. She was fast asleep by the time the locket began to shake and turn an ugly black colour around her neck. The door of the necklace sprang open, revealing a dark, handsome, living eye, that swirled frantically in its golden socket.

 

It was a strange room, familiar in a sense, but also drastically alien. She felt as if she had been here before. It was an large room from what she could tell, with a stone fireplace in one corner and a large ebony desk a few feet in front of her. The majority of the space in the room was cluttered with bizarre items - a glass cabinet stood nearby, encasing a wrinkled human hand, an oddly still and watery looking glass eye and a pack of cards, flecked with dried blood. Strange instruments bearing spikes and chains hung from the ceiling, as well as a hangman’s rope, that she pushed aside as she walked closer to the desk. A number of human and animal bones lay scattered on the counter - all in all, this was not a friendly looking wizarding shop. The clock on the wall read five o’clock. Odd, she thought, as it was so dark outside.

 

“Hello? Anybody home?” she called out, trying not to make eye contact with a disturbing looking mask that hung on the wall in front of her.

 

“Hello?” a voice rang out from behind her. She didn’t recognize the tone; velvety, deep and polite, so she turned to uncover the identity of the mysterious stranger. A man of around twenty stood a few feet away from her, near the entrance to the shop, holding a tray laden with biscuits, teacups and a large, steaming teapot. He looked odd, old-fashioned almost, wearing dark dress trousers, a dark green shirt and brown shoes. The shirt was pushed up around his elbows, as if he had been engaging in something physical not long before her arrival. His pale, but handsome features were framed by jet black curls, which matched his strangely dark eyes. He smiled at her politely, though she was greeted by a feeling of unease - those big dark eyes and just a little too much teeth in the smile reminded her of a shark, primed for attack. “May I help you, Miss?” he asked, moving past her to place the tea tray on the wooden desk. She turned back to face him, cocking an eyebrow as he sat down behind the desk and began to pour himself a large cup of what smelt like Earl Grey.

 

“Yes,” she began, voice hesitant. “I was wondering, um, where am I?”

 

The man chuckled and motioned to the fireplace. “Got yourself in the wrong place?” It was a question, but he delivered it almost like a statement of fact .

 

Hermione shrugged slightly. Actually, how had she gotten here? And where had she been?

 

“Well, you’re in Borgin and Burke’s, just off of Knockturn Alley,” he replied, placing the oversized teapot back down on the table and brushing off his hands. She noticed how long and pale his fingers were - oddly familiar. Everything here was oddly familiar. “I’m guessing a nice girl like you was aiming for Diagon Alley. Don’t fret, it happens all the time-” The man paused, taking in her confused expression for a moment. “Are you quite alright? If you don’t mind me saying, you look awfully pale.”

 

“I’m just-” she began, raising her hands to touch the skin of her neck. It was gone! The locket was gone! Frantically she starting looking around the shop, ducking behind exhibits and cabinets, eyes wide and panicked.

 

“Are you okay?” the man’s voice called from the desk.

 

“I’ve lost my necklace, it’s very, very important to me!” she called back, kneeling down to look underneath a strange chest of drawers that appeared to be made of snake-skin, and had legs that still moved like a living serpent. Where was it? She turned back round to be greeted by the sight of the man’s trouser-clad kneecaps. The sudden shock made her jump, causing her to fall backwards and smack her head against the snake chest. The man smiled down at her, and again that feeling of unease pricked her mind, as his hand moved to his pocket. He removed a sparkling golden and green locket and held it up to his face with a smirk.  

“Yes, that’s it! Thank you so much!” she cried out, reaching a hand up to him, expectantly. The man remained still, just eerily smiling at her. “Um, might I have my locket back, please?”

 

“Your locket?” he replied, placing said item back into his trouser pocket. “It’s not yours, it’s mine.”

 

“No, listen, I really need that lock-”

 

The man hoisted her off the floor by her collar with unnatural strength, smashing her back against another display cabinet. Her head hit the wooden surface roughly, causing her to see stars, when suddenly she felt the cold grip of those long, pale fingers around her throat. As her vision adjusted once more, she saw the dark-eyed male looking back at her with cruel glee etched in his features. “No, you listen. That locket is more mine than anyone else's. It belongs to my family, to me, and I want to know where you got it!” he snapped, squeezing down softly on her skin.

 

Hermione’s fingers scrabbled against his grip, her little nails scratching into his skin. He didn’t even wince. “I-I...came by it!” she gasped, kicking her legs up at him. He dodged the blows and pressed his body further forward into hers, pinning her still. A cold smirk was still present on his face.

 

“You ‘came by it’, and how did you ‘come by it’?” he mocked, mimicking her voice, childishly. Hermione’s cheeks grew red with anger, and she pushed her hands against his chest firmly to get him away. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be made of solid rock, and didn’t move an inch. “Calm down. Answer me and I will let you go. Don’t lie, thief.”

 

“..took it...from a cave!” she wheezed through his grip. Something inside her told her to tell the truth, this male seemed to know more about the locket than she, perhaps if she could get him on her side she might find a way to destroy it. The man tensed, though his grip on her throat loosened.

 

“How did you manage that?” he asked, staring at her in amazement. His hand left her throat and she gasped in air, relief washing over her. This feeling soon left when she saw him raise his wand towards her forehead. “Who are you?”

 

“My name is Hermione.”

 

“Hermione what?”

 

“Granger.”

 

“Witch, or-?”

 

“Witch, and a jolly good one, I’ll have you know!” she snapped back, crossing her arms indignantly.

 

The man snorted. “Amusing, really, Miss Granger. Do you know what this is?” he asked, thrusting the locket back into view.

 

She hesitated, her hand secretly moving to grip her own wand. “A horcrux.”

 

The man’s face contorted with rage, but he managed to keep his body composed. “And who am I?”

 

Hermione didn’t reply at first, though she had realized the answer minutes ago.

 

“Tom Riddle,” she said.

 

“Voldemort,” he said, simultaneously.

 

Calmly, Tom lowered his wand and moved back towards the desk, eyes never leaving her form. “And you know me as Tom, strange - strange for someone who knows about my horcruxes, anyhow. My followers all call me by my true name. What brings you here, to me?”

 

“That, I do not know. I just-” she paused, thinking back. She’d been in a tent...with Harry - Harry! Of course, they were finding a way to destroy the remaining pieces of soul - she made a mental note not to inform the man in front of her about this part. “I just fell asleep, wearing that bloody thing.”

 

“I see. So, I fathom you’re-”

 

“From a different time, yes.”

 

Tom smiled, leaning back against the desk. “You don’t seem that afraid of me.”

 

“I’m only dreaming, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” she replied, nonchalantly.

 

“Of course not,” he said, grin spreading even wider. She had the sinking feeling he knew something she did not. “Well, what an exciting dream this must be.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, refolding her arms across her chest. “No, actually, for a Dark Lord, you aren’t half boring.”

 

Tom’s gaze grew darker, more uncomfortable to be the focus of. “Then why don’t we do something a little less boring?” he asked, raising his arms to his sides in an open gesture. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, you’re the one dreaming of me. I’m the dream-boy. Man of your dreams-”

 

“Oh come on, Tom,” she snapped, irritated by his childishness.

 

His grin widened even further, if possible, leering at her like a Cheshire Cat. “Don’t call me Tom,” he said, in an overly friendly tone. Pushing himself from the desk, he stalked a little closer to Hermione, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know, I’ve been in - I mean, I’m currently in your head, darling. You’ve given me a thousand visions of what we could do.” Hermione scoffed and glared at him. “You really don’t know how to have fun, do you?”

 

“I do know how to have ‘fun’, Riddle! I just don’t want to have ‘fun’ with you!” she hissed back at him.

 

“So, you just want to sit down and drink tea for the duration of this dream, then?” he asked, moving closer, too close to her. “Because, I don’t know how long this is going to be.”

 

“I-” she was cut off when his hand moved to drag a finger slowly down the side of her neck, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her spine. The finger began tracing small circles over her collarbone, eliciting more wonderful sensations to erupt over her skin.

 

“I remember that one from a dream you had a month ago. Some idiotic red-head was doing it to you,” he leant in to whisper, “I guarantee I’ll do it better.”

 

Hermione shuddered again as his beautiful face leaned in very close to her own. How was she dreaming of Tom Riddle, she never even seen him before? Perhaps she was envisaging a random gorgeous male and because of recent events Voldemort had accidentally seeped into the dream through her subconscious? That must be it. Nothing made sense in dreams, why should this one stand out as so peculiar. Perhaps it was the sense of reality that was giving her such a bad feeling about all this. How had he known about her other dreams of Ron? It was all a little...odd. The only thought left in her mind when his cheek slid very close to hers as his lips ghosted her ear was ‘Bugger it! It’s only a dream, what’s the worst that can happen?’

Tom pressed his mouth gently to her ear, pulling back an inch to whisper, “I saw that too. I know what makes you moan, Hermione, I know what’ll make you break.”

 

Slowly, he moved and gently pressed his lips upon hers. They were soft, though cold. At first he was tentative, caring, lips caressing her own like a lover might. She wasn’t quite sure of what to do at first, she just stood perfectly still, shocked. He was so soft, beautiful...she couldn’t help but open her mouth and shyly kiss him back. The taste was wonderful, something rich, like honey, or wine. When he felt her begin to respond his tempo changed, from caring to rough, lips moving faster, tongue probing her mouth and his teeth biting down on her bottom lip. She let out a small moan and he pulled back, moving lower to place mind-blowingly wonderful kisses against the skin of her throat. Suddenly the room felt all too warm for Hermione.

His hands slid down her shoulders and came to rest on her hands, his fingers lacing through hers, pulling away from the intense kiss at last. She looked up at him dazed, before he pulled at her, forcing her to bump into him, then twirling her around to tug her back against his chest. The man pulled them both backwards slightly, so he was once again leaning against the counter, with Hermione situated between his legs. The girl tensed when his hand gently ruffled through the back of her bushy hair.

 

“This is all a dream, right?” she asked. A cry of pain left her lips when he gripped down hard on the curls in his hand and pulled her back tightly against him.

 

“A smart girl like you should realize that this is all a dream. Dreams mean nothing, right? No-one will know,” he hissed, sharply. Hermione nodded as best she could under his tight grip. “I thought you liked your hair pulled?” he asked, tugging again and smiling widely when she let out an anguished cry.

 

“I d-do!” she stammered. She was still fairly uncomfortable with the situation that had escalated so quickly between them - but dreams weren’t stable, or progressive were they? They were uncontrollable and unpredictable.

 

“Let yourself go, Hermione,” she heard Tom whisper, his velvet tones breaking through her reserve. When her back arched slightly to tug at her own hair, he smiled, realizing her acceptance. “Good girl.”

 

It was definitely a dream, how else would one man know so many of her turn ons? Tom’s hands pried her jumper and shirt from her waistband and tore them over her head, casting them aside, out of view. His lips pressed to the back of her neck, causing a small moan to leave her mouth. His hands roamed the bare skin of her stomach, then moved to trace the swell of her breasts. He stroked that area softly for a moment, before reaching to her back to remove her bra. The clasp proved irritatingly difficult for him to remove, however, causing a frustrated growl to come from his chest. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and every remaining piece of clothing disappeared from her body, leaving her bared for his touch. She felt him smile into the back of her neck, as his hands crawled upwards towards her breasts. A finger slid over the sensitive skin underneath her breasts, causing her to buck her hips back into him, closing her eyes in satisfaction. His fingers stroked their way to her nipples, swirling around each bud, hardening them with the pleasurable touch. Hermione let out a gasp and tried to turn to him, wanting to feel his bare skin on her own, but he clenched his legs tighter around her, forbidding her from doing so with a tut.

 

“Not so fast, little witch. Your dream boys should learn to take things slow. It’s the only way to build your energy, to make a connection between partners, don’t you think?” he whispered, kissing her ear gently. Hermione was too interested in the hands on her breasts to really listen, so she merely stopped her turn and stood still in his arms, allowing him to continue.

One hand ceased touching her breast and moved down her stomach, inching towards her sex at an agonizingly slow rate. She let out a cry and ground her hips back into him, feeling his hardness against her backside. All she wanted was for him to touch her, no she needed him to touch her! Now! Just as his hand almost reached her, he paused and chuckled darkly behind her.

“What do you want, Hermione?” he asked, innocently, plucking the nipple still in his fingers roughly. The girl shuddered, unable to speak. She had never been a dirty talker at the best of times, even in her own dreams, sex was fairly moderate. Nothing like this, nothing this deliciously dangerous. All because of him. His fingers pinched her nipple harder, this time not letting go and forcing a cry from Hermione. “I said, tell me what you want. Or, do you want nothing?”

 

“N-no! I want,” she breathed, trying to arch away from his painful touch. “I want you to touch me.”

 

“Tsk tsk, not good enough, Granger. An Acceptable at best. Try harder.”

 

“I don’t kn-”

 

“Tell me where, tell me how hard, how long, which hole, with or without teeth - use your imagination, for once,” he laughed, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.

 

“I, um, I want you to touch my - god, do I really have to say?” she groaned, cheeks reddening.

 

Tom sighed, letting go of her nipple. “You can say it, and have it your way, or let me do what I want, though I can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy all of it,” he said, stroking her sore breast gently.

 

Hermione squirmed, unsure. “I won’t enjoy what?” she asked, genuinely intrigued.

 

“Being caned whilst sucking me off, followed by being gagged, bound, thrown over this desk and painfully fucked in the ars-”

 

“Okay okay, we’ll do it my way!” she replied, hastily. Hearing these things was all the more disconcerting as she couldn’t actually see him from this position.

 

“Fine, but my turn next time. Now, carry on.”

 

Hermione gulped, trying to form half coherent sentences, face blushing a deep shade of crimson. “I want you to, uh, reach down and run your hands over my...um..”

 

“Cunt?” he asked, running his hand back over her stomach, playfully pinching her other nipple with his free hand.

 

“Yes!” she said, jumping at the sudden pressure on her breast. He followed her actions as she spoke them, fingers beginning to gently touch her sex. A little moan left her.“Now uh, start to touch my...my clitoris. And, would you mind pulling my hair and kissing my neck a little more?”

 

Tom smiled and moved his hand from her chest back into her mane of hair, tugging the strands forcefully. He exposed her neck to one side and began running his tongue along the skin there. “Why, it would be my pleasure.” He moved the hand on her cunt to her mouth and forced his fingers between her surprised lips. “Get them wet, darling, or this might hurt.” Eagerly, she complied and swept her tongue up and around his fingers, thoroughly wetting them. Satisfied, he moved his hand back down to her clit and circled it slowly. “Am I doing it right?” he mocked, feeling her arch against him, shuddering.

 

“Y-yes!” she cried out. He teased her sex, constantly bringing her close to orgasm with quick, unrelenting fingers, then slowing down or removing them altogether when she began to come. He repeated this motion several times, whilst simultaneously biting down upon her neck and alternating between grabbing her hair and playing with her breasts. The girl was near incoherent, begging him to let her come, trying to press herself harder into his fingers. After a while, her writhing against his cock became nearly impossible to take and he started to grow impatient, finally ceasing his actions to whirl the panting girl around to face him, yanking her head forward to capture her in a kiss. A fine sheen of sweat had formed all over her body from his ministrations, he could feel her body tense and shaking under his arms.

 

“You want to come, darling?” he asked, through his bruising kisses. As she moaned into his mouth, he wordlessly reached into his pocket and retrieved the locket he had taken from her. He pinched the two ends of the chain between his fingertips and, in the guise of wrapping his arms around her neck, hooked the locket back onto her. Immediately, he turned them both around and waved his hand at the desk, sending the items upon it crashing to the ground from a sweep of magic. Tom pushed the girl front first over the desk and reached down to start undoing his belt. He pushed down his trousers and underwear hurriedly and held his cock in his hand, running it gently over her dripping cunt. “Tell me, Hermione. Tell me what you want,” he breathed, self-control breaking as he spoke. The girl turned over to face him and shuffled back on the countertop, pulling him by his stiff shirt collar onto the desk to join her. She wriggled underneath him, placing him between her legs and ran her hands up through his neat hair, ruffling the curls into a dark mess.

 

“I want you to f-fuck me, Riddle. Hard as you like,” she replied, breathlessly. He didn’t need telling twice, and thrust into her roughly, groaning as her wet cunt surrounded him blissfully. With his hands placed on either side of her head, he sunk down onto his forearms, wanting to place his lips against hers once more. His strokes were hard, as hard as she had imagined them to be, and deep enough to hurt slightly. It worried her slightly that the pain made her wetter, made her closer to coming. “Oh god, fuck, T-Tom, I’m going to-”

 

“No!” he growled, one hand moving to encase her neck. “Not yet. Hold it.” Hermione whimpered, but tried her best to stave off the impending orgasm, concentrating on her breathing rather than the overwhelming pleasure. Tom smirked, kissing her forehead as he thrust into her particularly hard. “Good girl.”

 

“Please, fuck, no, Tom I can’t hold on, I really can’t!” she panted, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt as if holding on for dear life. In a spurt of madness, she dragged her fist down the shirt, popping each button from it hole and leaving his superb chest open to her viewing pleasure. She ran her hands down it greedily, fingernails digging into his pectorals and leaving tiny crescent shaped marks in their wake.The man snarled and sat up slightly, gripping her thighs in his hands and hoisting her legs onto his shoulders. With her body at this angle, he now began fucking her cruelly, relentlessly hard, hitting her in the right place constantly. Through her foggy vision she could still see his beauty - his body was primal looking, lean but muscular, constantly tense as if he were ready to attack. His face was carved, chiseled, angular in its perfection. But it was his sparkling, black eyes that sent a shiver down her spine - they emitting such raw power, such devastating charm, that she couldn’t help feeling in awe of him. He was everywhere, smothering her skin, forcing his way into her mind, biting down hard on her neck until she felt the skin break under his straight teeth. He drew back to look at her and smiled, her blood slathered over his lips and chin like some perverse, beautiful vampire-

 

“Fuck, come Hermione, come right now,” he demanded, feeling himself tip over the edge. As her sex began to clench rhythmically around him, her face twisted into a look of pained pleasure, mouth hanging open, eyes tightly screwed shut. She heard him hissing something in Parseltongue above her, uncertain of his words, assuming that they were simply an indication of his orgasm. He shuddered as he came inside of her, resting back down on his forearms, with his head nestled in her neck. For a brief moment, there was nothing but their satiated gasps, which grew slower and slower, until their normal breathing pattern resumed and their hearts stopped pounding at a manic rate.

 

Only after this pause, did Hermione notice something different - the room was colder, the desk she had been lying on was softer, the atmosphere felt less busy around them. She opened her eyes at last to see the ceiling of the tent above her. A sigh left her and she rubbed the sweat from her face. Was all a dream. I knew it. A deep groan pulled her from her peace, and horrified she realized there was still a weight against her chest. She looked down to see a smug, young, beautiful Tom Riddle still lying on top of her. She froze as he crawled up her body, placing a very hard, very real kiss against her lips. The metallic tang of her blood was still present in his saliva.

 

“No, no, no!” she shouted, pushing against his chest. “You can’t be here - I’m still dreaming!”

 

“‘I’m afraid not, Hermione,” he said, smirk firmly in place. He rolled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers and trousers back into place and running his hands through his hair, setting it back into place. “Thanks for the ride.”

 

“W-what...how-” she stammered. He stood to face her, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the tent.

 

“I’ve been working my way into your head for months, every since you first put Slytherin’s Locket round that delightfully love-bitten neck of yours,” he said, chuckling as she touched her neck only to flinch at the feel of the open wound he had left. “You see, much in the same way that my seventeen year-old horcrux attempted to take the life-force from the Weasley girl, the locket stole its energy from you. But, I couldn’t have taken it it one go without Potter noticing, and I could hardly come back into existence only to run into another killing curse, could I? So,” he paused, a smile stretching across his lips at the shocked on her face. “I did it slowly.  Remember all those times you felt weary and worried and ever so tired - all I needed was the physical contact from the locket on your delicious skin. I almost had enough power, but I had to wait, until tonight, until the darkest night, to take my final dose from you. Taboo, dark, debauched magic comes to its peak during the Solstices, as you probably already know. However, I wasn’t counting on you falling asleep when the Solstice was at its peak, but when you did...I thought it might be fun to meet you. It was rather easy, I’ve been in your head for so long, you see. I would just set up a little scene in my old place of work, play the dream boy with no clue how you came to be, and then...”

 

“What?” she snapped, glaring at him, furiously. “Then what?”

 

The smile drew up at one corner. “Fuck the energy out of you. Don’t look so confused, little witch, read darker books for a change, you may find some of the magic in there to be quite illuminating. Sex magic, blood magic, souls and death and demons - all can be used to one’s advantage if they only give in to temptation and try. You were seeping with so much raw energy when you came - which was just fucking perfect, by the way - that I ended up taking full form sooner than expected. I had thought it may take at least one more go before I had collected enough power from you. Bit of a shame, really, you really are a decent fuck - for a Mudblood. I should have just done that to start with, the whole process would have gone a lot faster. Other ‘me’ barely had time to get rid of himself before I appeared and-”

 

“What on earth are you talking about, Riddle?” Hermione shouted, utterly lost in his tirade. Harry had been right when he’d said Riddle rambled. For now she listened only to understand how he came to be.

 

“I mean, Hermione - do you think I would allow two versions of myself to run around? I’m no fool. Horcruxes act in strange ways, darling, each piece of soul can communicate to some extent. I knew I was able to come back, better than that vile snake-like thing I had become.  I was able to come back as this,” he gestured to his body with a flourish of his long fingers. “Forgive me for my vanity Hermione, but I know you appreciate that my charms are much easier to work with a pretty face. I’m stronger, better. The best.”

 

“What does that have to do with Voldemo- the other you?” she asked, still confused.

 

“It means, that body recently burnt away into dust. Why? Because I wished it done. The piece of soul left over entered a new item, became another horcrux - leaving way for one Dark Lord, one physically superior Dark Lord, to rule.”

 

Hermione’s gasp of horror was interrupted by shouts coming from the main room. Harry.

 

“Hermione! I heard it on the radio, Hermione - he’s dead! He’s dead, his body was completely burnt up! No-one knows how, he just caught fire, hah! I guess horcruxes were a pile of rub-” her friend shouted, happily, running into the bedroom. As he entered the room, he instantly froze, letting out a yell as his forehead stung violently. “Hermione what’s going on, you okay?”

 

His eyes quickly settled on the man standing in the room with them. He looked a little different from the last time he had seen him in this human form, older, more hollowed out cheeks, slightly longer hair - still handsome, pale, charismatic. And smirking, as usual. A little different, yes, but still entirely recognizable. Tom Riddle. “What are you doing here?” he asked, confusion tinting his tone.

 

“Harry?” Hermione said, catching his attention. The bespectacled boy turned to face her, shock plastered over his face. From the corner of her eye she saw Tom raising his pale, yew wand towards her friend - not quick enough to beat her own movement, however. She flicked her wand towards Harry, shouting apologies at him as she did, sending him into forced apparition, his figure disappearing from sight just as Tom’s green killing curse smashed into the place he had been standing. Relief washed over her - Harry was safe, he was the one the world needed, not her. She had unknowingly brought an invigorated, young Dark Lord back into the world, Harry shouldn’t die because of that. She could quite happily meet Death knowing she had saved her friend, that she had given him another chance to kill Voldemort once and for all. The girl let out a breathy laugh and turned to face Riddle, blood pounding in her ears. He was positively fuming, that usually pale face was tinged with red, his eyes were wide with rage and a hint of...surprise? Hermione laughed again, even as his wand raised towards her. Then, there was silence between them for a long stretch of time. The redness in Tom’s face had calmed by the time one of them spoke.

 

“Just get it over with, Riddle,” Hermione snapped, crossing her arms.

 

“Get what over with?” he replied. That irritating smirk was back. The day Harry wiped that mouth from the Earth couldn’t come soon enough.

 

“There’s no point in fighting you, Harry’s safe - just kill me.”

 

“What makes you think I want to do that?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“Fine!” she shouted, flicking her wand towards him, sending a simple stunner straight inot his chest. He jolted slightly, not expecting her spell. “Do I actually have to provoke you to do it?”

 

“You know I like a fighter, Hermione,” he said, crudely winking at her. With an angry shout, she jumped down off the bed and sent a barrage of curses flying towards him, each once bouncing off his quickly erected shield. Through the haze of dust that was sent flying around the room, Hermione never saw him stride forwards, not until he grabbed her collar and pulled her very close to him, just as he had in her dream. She could feel his breath against her cheek, his lips very nearly touching her skin. “I’m not going to kill you, darling. You’re much too precious for that.”

 

“Then what? Torture me, you sick son of a troll-”

 

“I was thinking I might steal you.”

 

A cold shiver ran down her spine. “W-why? I’m of no use to you anymore, Riddle.”

 

“Mmm, I think you can be,” he replied, pressing his lips gently to hers. She remained stock still, unresponsive. “Not only do you have a brilliant mind and a knowledge of Potter’s world but, well, I believe it’s my turn to have it my way.”

 

Hermione’s mouth gaped open in silent horror as she remembered his words from her dream and she felt the odd pressure of apparition push down around the two of them.

 

“Though I can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”


End file.
